No Second Chances
by HystericalConfession
Summary: Jack would have never fought with Rose if he knew what it would lead to. But it's too late for them now... Life doesn't always give second chances. Two-shot.
1. Chapter 1

**Hey guys… This is a sad story, but it was just an idea I wanted to get out. I might keep it only as a oneshot, but if I get positive feedback then I might add another chapter or two. Hope y'all enjoy it :]**

If he would have known what was going to happen that afternoon, he never would've let her go. He never would've thrown that flower vase in rage, watching it crash into the wall and exploding into a hundred pieces, splattering dirty water and scattering wilting rose petals all over the carpet. He never would've yelled at her to get out when she said she wanted to leave. He never would've screamed in her face about how unhappy he was with her and that he regretted letting her come along with him after Titanic sank. He never would've started yet another fight with her after he stumbled home at seven in the morning, his break reeking of cheap liquor. He never would've stormed out of the house the night before and headed straight for the bar to drink away his stress.

No. He never would have done any of that, if he had known what was going to happen.

Jack sank to the bedroom floor, covering his face with the palms of his hands and bursting into loud, heaving sobs. God, what he'd give for a second chance.

He would've stayed home with her. He would've assured her that he was through with the alcohol, through with picking fights and arguing with her. He would've pulled her close to his chest, ruffling her curly red hair, and told her how much he loved her and how lucky he was to have her in his life. He would've kissed her face and lips a dozen times over, listening to her giggle, the one that made him smile no matter how he was feeling. He would've left and headed straight for the flower shop, bringing her home fresh white roses to replace the dying ones in the vase. He would've swept her up in his arms and took her to bed, showing her how much he loved her that night.

But he didn't. And now he couldn't.

The cold silver band became heavier and heavier on his finger with each passing second, reminding him of the mistakes he had made and the love he had lost. His red-rimmed eyes focused on the big bed in the middle of the room, where he had made love to her so many times before. He knew the pillow on the right side still smelled of her lavender soap, the scent that he loved waking up to every morning. He could still hear the faint pitter-patter of her bare feet on the carpet as she walked around the house, brightening every room with her lively presence.

What had he done?

Sniffling loudly, he rose to his feet and staggered into the living room after hearing three loud raps on the front door. His heart danced in his chest, hoping the caller was her, but his brain told him otherwise.

A fat policeman stood on the porch step and tipped his hat at Jack "Mr. Dawson, I will be needing the description of your wife once again, please, sir."

Jack sucked in his breath and struggled to exhale. His voice came out timid and childish, no matter how many times he cleared his throat. "Her name is Rose Dawson… Rosaline Dawson, to be exact. She has curly red hair… Piercing green eyes… Beautiful lips..."

The policeman coughed as Jack trailed off, his face full of sympathy for the young man. "Mr. Dawson, I'm afraid I have… Bad news."

Jack's heart stopped; his blood turned to ice underneath his skin.

"A woman was found yesterday afternoon with that same description, fit to a tee."

"Found? Found as in hurt, but okay? Or found as in perfect condition?" Jack stared at the police officer with hungry eyes, begging him to reply with an answer to one of _those _questions.

But somehow he knew in his gut that it wasn't going to be such a happy ending, like he hoped it would.

The plump man averted his gaze to the parched grass in the front lawn of the house, a couple of beads of sweat trickling down his cheek. "No, sir… Found as in dead."

Jack's stomach began to churn, and his hysterical sobbing quickly returned. "She's…dead?"

"Yes, sir." The officer bowed slightly in Jack's direction, sorrow etched on his face. "I'm so very sorry for your loss, Mr. Dawson. So very sorry."

Jack couldn't hear him speaking; the pounding of his heartbeat in his ears was too loud. "How?" he screeched, the word barely articulate through his cries.

"The doctors believe she had been struck by an automobile on the side of a road outside of town. I'm so very sorry," he repeated, struggling not to cry himself. "I cannot imagine your pain right now."

"No! She can't be _dead, _I have to apologize to her!" He fell to his knees, screaming as loud as his vocal chords would allow him. Curious neighbors began to peek out of their windows and crack open their doors, watching with sad eyes as Jack broke down. "I have to tell her that I love her and that I want to make her happy like I used to and that everything will be okay between us!"

"My apologies, sir…"

_"No!" _Jack stood up and ran inside, slamming the door behind him, and raced into the bedroom in the back of the house. He threw himself on the bed, burying his nose in Rose's pillow and inhaling her scent as his tears soaked the pillowcase. His weeping possessed his body, depriving his lungs of oxygen because he was crying so hard.

"Rose… I'm so sorry… I love you… Come back…"

But she wouldn't. No matter how many thousands of tears he shed for her, he couldn't change what had happened. He couldn't go back in time and stop himself from screaming at her and making her leave.

He couldn't bring her back.


	2. Chapter 2

His thumb stroked the material of Rose's pillow as he clutched it to his chest, struggling to cry for the hundredth time in twenty-four hours but having no more tears to let out. The last time he saw Rose replayed in his mind's eye for the millionth time, sinking his heart even further in his chest.

_"You treat me horrible now, Jack!" she cried, her fingers wiping away the tears that fell from her emerald eyes. "You're nothing like you used to be. You used to love me so much! What happened?"_

_ A guttural scream erupted from Jack's throat. "I'm unhappy with you, too, Rose! You're a spoiled brat—"_

_ "It's better than a bumbling drunk, like you've become." She glared at him with hate gleaming in her gaze. "I'm not in love with who you are now; I only love the Jack I met when we were on the ship." She sniffled and stepped closer to her estranged husband, the silver band on her finger seeming to weigh her down as the rage and sorrow grew in her heart. "I want to leave."_

_ He leaned close to her face, his nostrils flaring angrily. "THEN LEAVE!"_

_ She stumbled back, gasping. Her hand reached out behind her to grip the doorknob and throw open the door. "I'll be back by the evening." _

_ She slammed the door behind her._

He thought he felt tears welling up in his eyes, but it was a false alarm. How could he have let her walk out like that, when deep down her words cut him like a sharpened knife? And yet it was _his _fault. He had grown so selfish and pushed Rose away; she had every right to hurt him like she did, and he knew it.

He knew it even then, minutes after she stormed out. His heart ached as he swept up the rose petals and bits of vase and wiped down the wall, wishing she'd hurry home already so he could apologize to her and remind her that he loved her more than anything.

But now he could never tell her how sorry he was.

Jack's feet met the carpet, lifting him out of bed and taking him towards the opened closet. Rose's clothes hung inside, a grim reminder that she had existed and lived here.

Had.

He ran his hands over the cotton fabrics, remembering Rose in every dress. She was wearing the navy blue one when he proposed to her at the beach in Santa Monica; he had never seen her smile as big as she had that day. She had worn the light pink one the day they had moved here to Wisconsin, so Jack could feel at home again.

But he wasn't at home anymore; not without Rose. She was his home.

How was he going to live without her? He slowly closed the closet door and turned back to face the empty bed. The house was so big without her here, so haunting and painful. Her presence lingered everywhere, stabbing him in the chest over and over again each place he looked. Everything here held a memory of her.

_Everything._

How could he handle living the rest of his life this way? He could move, but he felt like that would bring him even more pain; his memories of Rose wouldn't be as vivid if he left the home where many of them had taken place.

He clung on to a little shred of hope that she was still alive, even though he knew there was no way. She was gone, body and soul. Nothing left of her except her belongings and her existence in Jack's heart and mind.

His eyes throbbed in his skull from all of the weeping he had done over the last day. Would his entire life be like this now? Happiness seemed like a lifetime away.

O O O O

He didn't even attend Rose's funeral. He couldn't bring himself to do it, couldn't even drag himself out of bed. His belly screamed for food, but he ignored it, just like he had for almost a week now. The ever-present tears flowed from his eyes, soaking the white sheets and washing away the last of Rose's lavender scent on her pillow.

_Nothing without her, you're nothing without her, _his brain whispered, sorrow pumping through his veins.

His eyelids were heavy from lack of sleep, and he fought to keep them open. His dreams were hurt more than reality, because he always dreamt that she was still here, still lying beside him like she used to. He tried his hardest to avoid sleep, but in the end it always crept up on him and dragged him under its wing.

His breathing slowed as he fell deeper into sleep, his grip on the pillow loosening. Images of Rose—smiling, laughing, sobbing—swam through his mind, breaking his heart into even smaller pieces… Until everything became black.

Jack whirled from side to side, searching for any source of light, but God gave him none. His stomach churned in fear; where was he? What was happening? What kind of dream was _this?_

"Jack… Jack…"

The voice was angelic and faint. He jerked his head in the direction from where it came, and suddenly a blinding white washed over him. He squinted against it, his hand reaching up to shield his eyes from the light.

"Jack…" The voice grew louder, closer to his ear.

"Who are you? What's happening?"

"Jack."

He blinked, and when he opened his eyes, he was met with Rose's beautiful, shining face. He stared at her for several minutes, willing her to be true, but somehow knowing she wasn't.

Or…

Rose gripped Jack's hand and brought it to her lips. "Jack, we're together again."

"No… This is…a dream…"

With a bell-like laugh, she began to walk away, pulling him behind her. "No, darling. You're with me now."

The whiteness flashed and suddenly Jack was cramped in a small room, surrounded by windows with boxes stacked high outside. He peered out of one of the windows, his heart slowing in his chest. The scene was so familiar…

Rose appeared beside him again, her red curls pinned back and her body clothed in the red gown that she had worn to the first-class dinner he had attended. "Jack, do you know where we are?"

He turned to face her, his expression bewildered and almost frightened. "No. This can't even be real, Rose! This has to be just…just a lifelike dream… Because you're…" He swallowed the lump in his throat, unable to say the word.

_Dead._

Her fingertips brushed his cheek, sending sparks down his spine. "We're in the Renault, Jack. You recognize it?"

The black seat in front of them and the steering wheel ahead came into focus. His eyes bore into Rose's, his heart thumping wildly. "The Renault… On Titanic?"

Her voice dropped to a whisper. "Yes, we're back on Titanic." She grabbed both of his hands and squeezed them tightly, her ruby lips stretching into a smile. "Jack, don't you see? This isn't a dream, this is our _heaven. _We're together again!"

"I'm… I'm dead? How?"

"You died in your sleep tonight, Jack. From a broken heart." One hand reached up to caress his neck, her lips leaning closer to his. "But you're with me now; we can finally be happy."

"Oh, Rose!" He burst into tears, pulling away from her touch. "I was so terrible to you! I didn't even apologize to you, and you died hating me!"

"No." She pulled his body into hers, her lavender scent embracing Jack lovingly. He breathed it in gratefully and tried to control his crying. "I knew that you were sorry. I don't know where things started to get out of hand, but I loved you, I always did. And I know that you loved me too." With her index finger, she tilted his chin up so that she could look into his crystal blue eyes, glistening with tears. "Now everything's alright. We can spend eternity together, on Titanic or wherever we want to go. I love you."

"I love you."

Their lips met, passion igniting in the air around them. Jack smiled in between their kisses. He didn't have to worry about being without Rose now; he had forever to spend with her.

Forever.


End file.
